


Welcome to the Other Side

by thealphadog



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017), The Greatest Showman (Movies)
Genre: 1847 ideals, Angst, F/M, Fluff, It's not all it's cracked up to be, Multi, Sadness, Swearing, y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphadog/pseuds/thealphadog
Summary: Your entire life has been a battle of snobbish dinners, your father's trading company slang and his inability to let you live your own life, but when he starts wanting to control who you love, you fully draw the line.The big city is calling your name, with all it's excitement and wonder, it's sadness and flaws;You stumble across a large circus tent, and your life truly becomes something you always wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

In short terms, your entire life had been a joke. The world that surrounded you wasn’t one you enjoyed, or wanted to be a part of. It was hellish, having to wake up to another day of lavish dresses, snobby dinners and the clammy hands of the various maids and house mothers that your father had forced upon you from the age of five. 

 

Jonathon Bonsai was a renowned businessman, trading across borders everywhere, from New York to China, and so forth. His empire had grown tenfold in the past five years, and himself, alongside his oh so darling family, were in the spotlight everywhere they went. 

 

To anyone, fame would be welcomed in this world. Money, security, a life so easily lived it was practically not worth living in. To you? It was all too comfortable, all too planned out.

 

There was no spontaneity, no fun. Your entire life had been planned out since you’d started eloquence classes, since the first time you’d been forced into a corset so tight that your ribs had been bruised. 

 

You don’t feel that bruising, anymore. 

 

“(Y/N), your father requests your presence in his study,” Judy said, as you bookmarked your page and got up from your favourite reading spot. It was the best window in the house, and oversaw the bustling skyline of an ever growing New York City; a place that fascinated you with every visit, however sparse those were. Your father liked having you confined to the house - “The City isn’t a place for a girl like you.” - to keep your appearance the most pristine he could. 

 

You strolled through the large halls of your house, its walls full of trinkets, photographs, several tapestries from countries that your father had traded inside of. His study took up the entire east wing of the house, and he practically lived there. “You asked for me, Sir?” You knocked subtly on the door, and he ushered you in without a glance. 

 

You sat down on the chair in front of his desk and gulped; he was riffling through papers, the parchment overflowing from the desk top, the small paper basket at his feet completely full. 

 

Your father was a businessman, through and through. Sometimes you wondered whether he actually knew he had a family, or appreciated them in the slightest. “Right-,” he began, taking off his spectacles and placing them on the desk. His eyes bore into yours so harshly, but you’d learned not to look away. It showed insecurities. Bonsai’s weren’t allowed to be insecure. 

 

“It’s known that your eighteenth birthday is fast approaching, which means you’re becoming a young lady.” 

 

You nodded at him once, saying nothing. 

 

“A young lady like yourself needs to have certain things fulfilled to have a grand life, like the life I’ve given you,”

 

Where was he going with this? 

 

“A husband, (Y/N). I’ve found the perfect candidate for you.” 

 

Your heart practically stopped beating. Was controlling the first seventeen years of your life not enough for him that he honestly had to find you a husband as well? A life partner, someone that you’d spend the rest of your days with? 

 

That’s where you drew the line.

 

“Father-,” 

 

“There will be no talkback with this, (Y/N). Robert Carlyle comes from a family that I have close business relations with. He’d take good care of you.” 

 

“I don’t need taken care of.” You muttered, and your father simply stared at you, his eyes glued to your every movement. You’d seen that face before; and he wasn’t going to scare you like the other times. 

 

Suddenly, you stood up, feeling much stronger. This life wasn’t for you - you’d had seventeen years to work that out. The people, the actions and behaviour that they dished out, it was positively revolting. 

 

“I’m through with being controlled. This life wasn’t meant for me, and I’m not OK with this in the slightest-,”

 

Your father rose from his chair.

 

“Sit. Down.” 

 

Your scowled at him, raising your chin.

 

“No.”

 

In one swoop you were out of the study and charging up the stairs to your room, ready to get out of this hell you’d been living. Judy rushed to you, standing helplessly as you grabbed clothes, books and the money you’d collected over the past ten years. “Miss- please. Rethink this-,”

 

You grabbed her by the shoulders, your eyes piercing into hers. “You know better than anyone how I hate it here, how this life wasn’t meant for me.” 

 

“But your mother-,”

 

“She’s gone, Judy.” You stuffed a book into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “She would have wanted me to live my own life.” Your breathing was erratic when you embraced your house mother, her arms wrapping around you so tightly, a tear dropping slowly down her cheek. “Thank you, for all you’ve done for me.” 

 

She nodded at you, and then you slipped from her grip, gliding down the stairs, determined. 

 

You grabbed your coat and scarf from the hook by the front door and swung it open.

 

“(Y/N)!” Your father shouted, his eyes a piercing red as he approached you. “You’re not leaving this house.”

 

“Yes, I am. I’m a young lady in a week. I deserve to think for myself, live for myself, be surrounded by a world that I want to be a part of.” 

 

“You’re still such a naive child. You honestly think you’ll survive out there?” He scoffed at you, and you simply smiled. 

 

“Watch me.” 

 

The door slammed shut.

 

-

 

You rode the train for three stops, your hat and scarf wrapped around you tightly in the ever approaching Autumn. The train stopped, the station name; New York City West. You grabbed your belongings and bounded off the train, running down the platform, through the ticket office, and then there it was;

 

New York City in all it’s glory. With it’s looming buildings, horses and carriages everywhere you looked, the rich and famous meandering through the streets, trying to evade the public and stay undetected, the poor scrounging for food. It was a mixture of happiness and sadness, looking at the scene in front of you. The amount of people who lived in this city, who had lives; but also the amount of people who were simply existing in this life, not living. 

 

To your right sat an old woman, her head in her hands, her clothes tattered beyond belief. The small hat in front of her held two dollars and twenty five cents. An idea came to your mind as you ran towards the nearest food market. You bought a pound of apples, a loaf of white bread and some meat, then ran back to where she sat by the train station entrance. 

 

You picked out an apple, a cut of meat and ripped off part of the loaf, handing it to the woman. Her eyes hit yours, the thanks becoming more than apparent. She gripped your hands in hers fir a few seconds, and then you wandered off to the next person you saw. 

 

Within twenty minutes you’d run out of bread and meat, and had kept an apple for yourself. 

 

It felt good to do good, especially when you’d never felt the hardship, the struggle of having nowhere to live. You’d been so confined your entire life, there had been no escape, no chance to experience the true struggles of life. 

 

You sat on the steps of a large building, close to the docks, and chewed on your apple. You had no idea where you’d sleep tonight, or where you’d live in the long run, but that didn’t discourage you. You knew for certain that you’d never go back home, never again. 

 

The sun began to set over the steaming skyline, and as it did you saw hundreds of people running, jogging, chattering and laughing as they headed towards the docks. Children, women and men, they all travelled in a huddle. It intrigued you. 

 

You followed them all as they head towards some kind of tent, set up on the land just before the docks took over the space. From outside, the tent shone with golden lights, the red and yellow stripes invited you. You paid for a ticket and inside you went;

 

Into an entirely new world. 

 

The lights dimmed, and the music began, and suddenly you were encased in something new, something bright, something great. 

 

People flew from the ceilings, gliding through the air beautifully in their purple clothes, covered in glitter.

 

Dancers, fire artists, animals; they filled the floor in front of you, performing something that must have been so meticulously choreographed, something that must have taken months or years to perfect. 

 

And then the master entered the middle of the show;

 

His hat was high and his clothes a bright red, littered with buttons and clasps so golden your eyes were threatening to overflow. “This is the greatest show!” He yelled, he sang, he whistled, and the crowd jumped as he spun on the floor or was grabbed up to the ceiling by one of the flying dancers. 

 

And then he took off his hat, and your breath got hitched in your throat.

 

The show ended, and the audience filed out of the tent, but your feet couldn’t move. They were glued to the spot. The circus master, the middle man; it was Phillip Carlyle, Robert’s, the man you were supposed to marry, younger brother. 

 

You’d met the Carlyle’s before, obviously, back when your father had been invited to one of Mr Carlyle’s dinners. Your father had insisted you come too, and you’d spent the evening being tortured by trading conversations, surrounded buy other gloriously snobbish women and men; and in the centre, the most snobbish and drunk of the most of them; Phillip. 

 

You sat down once more, your head in your hands. What was Phillip doing here? Surely his parents wouldn’t have put up with this, after he was doing so well in those plays. 

 

“Excuse me, Miss. The show’s over,” Phillip, his jacket unbuttoned and  his hat no where to be seen, strolled out from the back of the tent. He glanced up at you and his eyes widened. “(Y/N)?”

 

“Hi, Mr Carlyle-,”

 

“It’s Phillip, always Phillip,” He jogged towards you as you stepped down from the seating area. HIs smile was wide and welcoming and grabbed your hand fondly. “It’s been a while since I last saw you. You’ve- grown,” He looked you up an down with gratitude, his eyes warm. 

 

“Not long until I’m eighteen, either- a week, or six days really.” You smiled at him and he squeezed your shoulders. 

 

“It was about time your father let you leave that big house, anyway. H-how did you like the show?” Hr was talking so fast that he was almost stuttering, the excitement in his voice evident. 

 

“The show- was amazing. I don’t think I blinked once,” Phillip scrunched up his face in thanks. “And, um, my father didn’t let me leave. I actually, left home on my own.” 

 

“You- what?” Phillip turned to you suddenly, his face full of concern. “You mean, you’re completely on your own?”

 

You nodded at him slightly, trying to keep your face smiling. But it had dawned on you that yes, you were completely on your own in one of the largest cities in America. 

 

“I won’t accept that, come on.” Phillip grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the back curtain, pushing in open forcefully and pushing you to the back of the stage. “Everyone-,” You watched as all of the performers gathered around, still taking off their costumes, their make up. “This is (Y/N), an old friend. She’s escaped the jaws of the upper class, so welcome her here. She’ll help with the show, all of your costumes and make up.” You grabbed Phillip’s collar.

 

“Are you serious?” Your smile was making your face hurt. Phillip looked positively giddy. 

 

“Phillip,” a man’s voice cut through the silence, and he jogged up to the ex-actor. “I just ran the numbers, are profits are double what we need for this month.” The man’s eyes flittered across you, doing a double take. “Hello there-,”

 

“Barnum, this is Bonsai’s daughter. She, somewhat, ran away from home.” 

 

“Bonsai’s daughter, huh? I never was a fan of him, or any of the people he worked with,”

 

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” You said, your eyes meeting Barnum’s sincerely. Barnum looked you up and down, his arms crossed. 

 

“You don’t look like a Bonsai,” You scoffed at him.

 

“Probably because I actually _have a heart_. All traces of human decency, in my family, seemed to disappear along with my mother,” Something inside your head told you you’d just said far too much, but it also felt good to speak about it, to actually tell the truth of what you’d been feeling in the four years since your mother had passed. 

 

“So,” Barnum pointed from you to Phillip. “How do you guys know each other?”

 

“Our families are close, they dragged along us kids to everything really.” Phillip patted you on the shoulder. 

 

“That, and my father was going to force me and Phillip’s brother to get married.” Barnum physically frowned, he looked as if he’d just eaten something sour. 

 

“OK, OK, that’s a good enough reason for me as to why you should stay. We could use someone to help out with props, costume and so forth,” he glanced around the room, looking at each of his acts faces. They were all open and smiling, all happy to see another person in the tent. You caught eyes with a busty woman, her blue dress reflected small lights, and on her chin was a fully grown beard. You caught her eyes once more, she was frowning. 

 

Your smile grew as you looked at her, and her face went red with blush, her smile coming back tenfold. 

 

Barnum turned back to you, his eyes wide and his smile taking up most of his face. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and you knew he was a sincere man, a good man. Something told you this show hadn’t happened overnight, but had taken time and effort, _his_ time and effort. The show was so unique, so beautiful and magnificent, you wondered how the hell you had actually been allowed to work on it. Phillip, in this sense, was your saviour. 

 

“Welcome to the Greatest Show.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Curtain’s in two minutes, (Y/N),” Phillip whispered at you, grabbing your shoulders. You breathed deeply and nodded, running quickly towards the side of the curtain, where it was your job to raise it when the acts were ready to emerge. All this new responsibility, it was so refreshing that you found yourself smiling almost all the time. During rehearsals, when Barnum had you taking notes of all the acts. During lunch, when you’d ensure that everyone had the props they needed, or repaired costumes that had torn. 

 

It wasn’t so much a community, but a family. A family of incredible people. 

 

Phillip and the other acts all stood patiently by the curtain. They either stood, still and composed, or shuffled with their costumes and tweaked the last few things. At the end of the huddle the two trapeze artists stood elegantly; the brother stood up tall, his shadow casting a strong outline on the velvet curtain. The sister; she stood gracefully next to her brother, her hair a bright pink, her skin the colour of ground coffee; beautiful. 

 

You watched as Phillip and Anne met eyes. It was some kind of forbidden love, truly. Yet you got the impression they didn’t seem to care at all. It was evident that everyone else in the show knew about them, and despite the straight lipped stare from W, he couldn’t help but smile at the fact his sister was happy with Phillip.

 

You knew about Anne and Phillip the day after you’d first seen the show; the day after you’d been taken in. 

 

Everyone was either practicing or having a leisurely day, it was late afternoon, and you’d just been to the market for Barnum. Back stage was empty; people were either in their own quarters or out and about. 

 

That’s when you heard the music. 

 

Phillip had a distinct voice, what from the obvious vocal training he’d got from being in so many theatre productions. No doubt because his parents were two of the most controlling people you’d ever met- their boys just had to be the best. Sometimes you forgot that Phillip was the same person you’d met six months ago, the same alcoholic, pretentious brat. 

 

But now you knew it was the lifestyle that drove him to be that person. The constant watch from his overbearing parents, the nagging and the obsessive nature for him to be the best; to be the greatest actor that the New York theatre company had ever seen. 

 

He’d been partial to a gin and tonic, and the next snobbish, up-tight, long curly haired fan that approached him, with a good enough appearance and a big enough bank account; he wouldn’t hesitate to advance on her; just because that’s what his parents would want. Just because that’s what his parents expected from him. 

 

The two of them serenaded each other, their smiles bright and warm. You felt like you’d intruded, but at the same time you couldn’t move away. Just watching them be together, watching Phillip tug on the rope, watching Anne cascade down to the floor and stop just before she fell into his arms; 

 

It made your heart sing inside your body. 

 

It was the same thing you saw whenever Barnum looked at his wife, Charity.

 

It was the same thing you saw on the streets of New York; when two people collided on the road, their hands wrapped tightly around each other; their faces scrunched up, breathing the other person in. 

 

At the time, standing silently as you peered through the velvet curtain at Phillip and Anne, as she practised another beautiful jump, another extravagant flight path, you’d hadn’t been told about how Barnum had gone about recruiting Phillip. You found that out after your first time working backstage-

 

Everything had gone smoothly, despite your sweaty face not seeming to look relieved. Barnum patted you on the shoulder; “Don’t look so scared, you did everything perfectly.” You breathed deeply and shuffled closer to him, a small smile poking out of the haze of anxiety that was etched all over your face. 

 

“Thank you, I just didn’t want to mess up all that you’ve created.” Barnum simply laughed. 

 

“Believe me; you couldn’t screw all this up any worse than I did before. It’s been a tough ride, but I’m happy about where we all are, now.” You laughed with him, then, as your red face began to die down in colour. Phillip and Anne whisked past the two of you, their faces ablaze with happiness, deep rooted in an interesting conversation.

 

“Phillip,” You began, staring at the curtain despite speaking to Barnum. “He’s changed so much. It’s like he’s a different person completely, but yet, totally himself.” 

 

“I know what you mean,” Barnum began. “From the beginning I saw something in him, something desperately trying to escape that hell of a life that he was stuck inside. I told him - ‘ _I can take you to the other side_ ’ -  and I knew he wanted it.” You nodded and smiled at the floor, fiddling with your fingers. 

 

“That’s because you’re a good man. I can see how much this show means to y-,”

 

“I get the feeling it means a lot to you, too, despite it being a day since you joined us.” He cut you off politely, and you chuckled. “It’s not just about the show; it’s about all of us. I wanted to bring together a group of people so remarkable, so unique, that no one could resist. If we all came together as a family in the long run, that was just a plus.

 

“But I gained far more than a family; we _all_ gained more… We all found our true selves.” 

 

You pulled the rope that tugged open the velvet curtains, and simply sat back; your eyes staring through the darkness of backstage. But you listened intently;

 

_Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for…_

 

You could practically see the faces of the audience, all peering in amazement at the people in front of them.

 

_Been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor…_

 

Yet you were behind the stage, behind a fake wall, seeing the very edge of what they’d shown you six days ago, when you’d first arrived in the tent.

 

_And buried in your bones there’s an ache that you can’t ignore…_

 

You hummed along to the song as it raged on, that sweet music that had captured you so desperately as you sat- stood- jumped- along to their performance the first time your eyes had seen it all.

 

_Taking your breath, stealing your mind, and all that was real is left behind…_

 

 _“_ Don’t fight it, it’s coming for ya, running at ya-,” You immediately quietened yourself as you remembered that the fake wall wasn’t sound proof- if you were loud enough the audience would be able to hear you singing behind the scenes, which wasn’t ideal. 

 

So you stayed put quietly, sometimes rushing quickly to the props table and making sure everything was sorted, organised, for the next act that needed it. Your legs dangled playfully above the backstage living area, the lights of the show occasionally hitting you in spots, but not enough to have anyone actually see you through the minuscule gap in the velvet curtains. 

 

For those few hours where you sat by yourself, surveying the backstage area each night, you would think of the lyrics that everyone sang so beautifully-

 

_So tell me, do you wanna go?_

_Where you’re covered in all the coloured lights,_

_Where the runaways are running the night,_

_Impossible; come true, it’s taking over you-_

 

_This is the greatest show._

 

For the audience, yes. For the acts, absolutely. But was it for you?

 

You stared at the clock on the wall as you could hear the show coming to its end, and as it struck twelve your heart pounded. 

 

You were eighteen. 

 

Your father had raised you, somewhat trained you, for when this birthday was inevitably coming around. All the eloquence classes, all the dresses, the heels, the tight hair styles, the “ _keep your mouth shut,_ ” comments, the side stares at the dinner table; all of this had been him trying to ensure you emerged through the birthday veil as an appropriate young woman, a young woman who knew what she needed in her life- 

 

Who knew her place.

 

“This is the greatest show!” The acts sang loudly, and you were brought out of your thoughts. You jumped quickly down from the small balcony, practically sprinting to the curtain rope. Everyone huddled together once more, their hands together, their bodies pulsing with pure adrenaline, pure happiness.

 

It must feel amazing. 

 

You let the audience clap and cheer for a few seconds, before rising the rope skyward and swinging the curtains shut. 

 

You soaked up the excitement each of them exuded; you remembered their faces and their looks of pure glee; all in some attempt to feel what they were feeling, to experience that rush of joy, those lights gliding over them as they sang so beautifully without a care, as they danced to their own beat and showed the world who they truly were. No filter. 

 

All the while you were backstage, watching the clock tick by. 

 

Phillip grabbed your shoulder, bringing you back to reality once more. “Happy birthday, (Y/N),” he spoke, almost breathless, his brow brimmed with sweat and his smile so wide that you were jealous. 

 

Jealous; upset; even angry. 

 

You didn’t have the strength to say thank you. All you could do was run to your quarters, trying to ignore everyones’ eyes following you as you left, your tears welling up and drowning your cheeks in what you wished you could truly be a part of. For good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update- whoa she's actually writing! 
> 
> I have three things on the go right now... I don't know why I do this to myself, especially alongside UCAS and other boring stuff that I need to have a possible future, lol. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it! This is kinda a sad story to be honest, but everyone loves a bit of angst.


	3. Chapter 3

You tried so hard not to overflow, you really did. But then your feet had started moving on their own, carrying your legs to your quarters and exclaiming to the world how unhappy you were.

 

Without a family.

 

Without the lights.

 

Without love.

 

It was your birthday, your bloody birthday. And you were crying like a snobbish rich girl, the girl you’d tried so hard to escape. But maybe she’d always been there, behind your father’s infamous efforts to suffocate you.

 

Maybe it had all worked.

 

Maybe you weren’t someone who could live this life.

 

You could hear people muttering outside, but one voice cut through the noise;

 

Charity and the girls.

 

“Well, is she OK?”

 

“I don’t know-,”

 

“What do you mean _you don’t know_? Go and find out!” After a few seconds of silence, you could hear Charity’s shoes clicking across the wooden flooring, getting louder and louder.

 

She knocked politely on the door frame, and a sympathetic smile came into view.

 

It made you cry even more.

 

“Hunny- (Y/N)- what’s wrong?” She sat next to you, her hand finding yours and squeezing affectionately.

 

How could you begin to describe how inadequate you felt? After Barnum practically took you in?

 

How could you begin to describe that the lights, the lights that once filled you with so much joy and freedom, now only made you more aware of what you weren’t a part of.

 

How could you begin to say that perhaps your father was right- “ _You honestly think you’ll survive out there?”_

 

Everything that was wrong flittered through your mind, but your mouth wasn’t saying any of it-

 

You sniffed, and dragged an already sodden hand over your cheeks in an attempt to dry your tears. “Really, it’s nothing. Just- first birthday away from home,” you breathed in and out. “But I don’t want to go back,” you added quickly, and Charity smiled.

 

“You and I are alike, you know.” Her voice had this aura about it; something kind; something sweet; something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But it reminded you of someone. “I have a feeling your father and mine have the same ideals.”

 

“Ha, you can say that again.” You muttered, and Charity squeezed your hand again. “But yeah, it’s just about that. I’m fine- really,”

 

It was obvious she saw through your shit excuse, your bad facade. But she didn’t push you. It was like she knew that soon you’d be ready to say it in your own time.

 

“OK, hunny,” she hit your knee playfully. “Now come on, Helen and Caroline made you a cake.”

 

-

 

“Robert, Phillip- this is my daughter, (Y/N),” your eyes traced over the two handsome gentlemen in front of you. They were older, yes, but only by a few years. And it was only a matter of months before you were classed as an adult.

 

You smiled at them both as you’d been taught to; not too toothy; not too subdued; perfect. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,”

 

Robert extended his hand and grabbed yours gently, bringing his lips to your knuckles. “The pleasure is all ours,”

 

Phillip simply stared, his face frowning. He scoffed, loudly, after your father left to speak to another businessman.

 

“You guys look like you have a pole up your asses,” you retracted your hand from Robert, swallowing back your hurt.

 

But also your laughter.

 

Because it was all entirely true, this was all fake.

 

Phillip took a gulp from his hip-flask and wiped his mouth, his lips in a small curly smile. “He has a point,” you said outright, talking to Robert. “This is all just to make our father’s happy, is it not?”

 

Robert sighed, his face looking exceedingly awkward. “I’ll go and get us a drink.” His feet couldn’t have moved away faster.

 

“That’s the last time I speak my opinion in front of a man.” You scoffed at yourself, but Phillip stared at you with reserved silence. You frowned at him, his eyes not seeming to stop looking at you. “It’s rude to stare.”

 

He smiled then, and took another gulp. “How the hell are you a Bonsai?”

 

“We’re not some elite club, you know,”

 

Phillip chuckled. “Yeah, you are. Everyone’s heard the name, politicians, royalty, bank owners- you’re famous.”

 

“I’m not _famous_. Perhaps my father is- but _not me_.”

 

“Or-,” Phillip got in closer to you, his breath smelled like whiskey and honey. His stubble collided with your skin and made you jump. “Maybe you just don’t want to be.”

 

He’d walked away after that, and to your dismay Robert had come back.

 

“I do apologise for my brother’s behaviour-,”

 

“No need, Mr. Carlyle,” you took a sip of champagne. “He’s actually quite insightful.”

 

You should have seen it coming- the arranged marriage, that is. It was so obvious that your father was bringing you along to more and more company events, introducing you to yet another son or young business owner.

 

But you couldn’t- wouldn’t- dream of saying anything. Of saying no to his will. At least back then, you were utterly under his thumb, but how else could you have been?

 

After your mother died, he’d broken in half. You had no idea if he’d had any affairs with other women, if he’d even thought of the idea-

 

Your father may not be your favourite person, but it was clear; he loved your mother with all his heart.

 

-

 

You watched from the sidelines as everyone drank and sung. The cake was demolished, as was Tom Thumb, after his fifth rum and coke.

 

You sipped silently on your own drink, feeling it slide down your throat and fill your stomach with warmth.

 

They all looked so happy- so connected to each other that it hurt you slightly that you weren’t as involved.

 

Anne and Phillip were huddled close together to each other, Phillip’s eyes glued onto hers like she was the only woman in the world worth seeing, worth loving.

 

And Anne looked at him like she couldn’t believe he was hers. They were each other’s, completely.

 

And you’d have been lying if you weren’t envious.

 

You’d also be lying if you’d said you didn’t want to be out front dancing and singing with the crew. They were drunk- that was certain- but they were still performing.

 

And you wanted _in_.

 

“A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry I’ve taken FOREVER to update this baby. I’ve been surrounded with other fics and other responsibilities and blah blah blah.
> 
> But here we go - it’s a bit short but I like how it turned out. 
> 
> Enjoy x


	4. Chapter 4

“Everyone has a talent, you know,” Barnum sat across from you, his eyes piercing into yours with a look that told you he knew what you were after. He was a good man, someone who could so easily guess what another was feeling— and you were feeling a whole lot of stuff right now. 

 

“I’m sure they do,” you muttered, as you tied another sailors knot in the curtain rig, ready for the next show. 

 

“I’m starting to think that life on your own isn’t what you thought it would be like,” He raised his eyebrows, and you gulped. 

 

“I’m—,” You felt awful all of a sudden. He’d taken you in, he’d given you a place, and you were thanking him by wanting _more_. “You’ve done so much for me— I’m just _stubborn_ , and I suppose I did just generally want more— but I want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and all that you—,”

 

“I think the audience would love you, personally,” Barnum interrupted, and the breath got hitched in the back of your throat. He stood up then and gave you his hand to get up. He smiled as he twirled you around, his eyes wandering over you as if he was imagining you in an entirely different way. “Your story is one of truth. It shows that the lavish lifestyle isn’t always the best— it echoes Phillip’s own life.” 

 

“Yeah, well. Phillip and I were practically cut from the same cloth. I owe him a lot.” 

 

“It’s settled then,” Barnum stopped, a massive grin on his face. “You figure out your talent and pay Phillip back by joining the show. _Properly_ , this time.” 

 

Your heart practically stopped in your body. This was it; this was really it. Barnum was handing you what you wanted on a plate, he was giving you this life, this family, this chance to be seen as something more than just Bonsai’s daughter. 

 

You dropped the rig on the floor, your mind racing, trying to figure out what the hell you would do in the show. Dancing? No way— not after your father forced you into classes when you had no interest. Singing? Maybe in your own room, a little hum here and there, but not in front of an audience that big, unless it was part of an ensemble. 

 

It hit you then, that maybe you needed to learn something from _scratch_. Maybe starting fresh would be something exciting, something brilliant. And you knew who to ask—

 

Anne giggled. “ _Trapeze_? You want me to teach you _trapeze_.” 

 

“That would be the ideal scenario, yeah.” She tried to hold in her amusement, then sighed.

 

“Do you have any prior experience?” 

 

“I used to do dance classes, also some gymnastics.” 

 

She raised her brows as if to say ‘ _Not bad’_. 

 

“Get some comfortable clothes on, and wrap up your hands. I’ll teach you the basics first.” 

 

You bounded back to your room, almost tripping over Phillip as he practised his own routine. You yelled a quick sorry at him, and he stared at you as you ran off, his smile wide and caring. Anne came up behind him then, snaking her arms around his waist lovingly. 

 

“Barnum gave her a chance, huh?” Phillip turned to her, his lips pecking at hers. 

 

“I knew he would, eventually. Not just because she’d get people talking— but because she’d be brilliant on stage.” 

 

-

 

“ _Again!_ ” Anne shouted, and you grabbed onto the rope that hung from the ceiling. Your hands were blistering, and your limbs shook from exhaustion, but nevertheless you readied for the trick. You ran backwards, and then jumped up suddenly, coiling your legs around the rope and wrapping it around your thighs, so you sat on air. The rope turned then, and you dangled elegantly for a few seconds; 

 

Then the rope untangled itself from your thighs— and you came plummeting down from the skies once more, only managing not to face plant on the floor from gripping the rope so hard that it burned your hands. Your feet touched the floor, and then your entire body collapsed.

 

“ _No!_ ” You yelled at yourself. The rope behind you came tumbling down from the rafters, smacking against the clay floor, dust rising into the tense air. 

 

Anne strolled over to you, a concerned look on her face. 

 

“It takes time— it’s OK—,”

 

“It’s _not OK_. Each time I get close to doing the move perfectly; it all goes wrong.” Anne ran her fingers kindly through your tussled hair, straightening out the tangles. You were exhausted, that much was clear. You’d never worked this hard in your life, and in some ways in frustrated you more that you hadn’t; that you’d never experienced this kind of tiredness. 

 

“That’s enough for today. If you keep going, you’re just going to hurt yourself.”

 

You got up from the floor, all of your limbs screaming for rest, and dragged yourself, slumped, to your room. Despite the tiredness, you felt _alive_. You felt like you could do anything, like your body was full of energy, despite the blisters and the pain. 

 

You felt _powerful_. 

 

You didn’t bother washing, but instead threw on a few extra layers, and grabbed the old dusty bag that you’d brought from home— a bag that hadn’t been opened since your mother passed away. 

 

You left the tent silently, hoping no one had noticed you leaving. New York was cold and icy, the snow had covered the ground for a few weeks now, and didn’t seem like it would hold up anytime soon. Lakes had been frozen over, which is why it was perfect weather for what you were about to do. 

 

Back at your estate, there was a lake at the bottom of your garden. Every winter, it froze over, and you and your mother would look at each other the same way each time;

 

Because that was when you’d get your skates out.

 

You walked, hands in pockets, bag slung over your shoulder, to the lake a mile away from the docks. People had set up a perimeter, and families skated freely. Kids laughed as their parents stopped them from toppling over. Couples held hands, keeping each other up. 

 

You dropped the bag from your shoulder and unzipped the top, revealing your old skates. They’d always been too big for you as a child, and as you slipped them on you couldn’t believe how well they fit you now. 

 

The feeling of the first blade touching the ice, the cold wind whipping around you as you put one foot in front of the other; it almost brought tears to your eyes. It had been so long; too long; since you’d skated. And you wondered why the hell you’d stopped. You thought your mother wouldn’t want you skating without her, you thought it would be too strange going down the lake without her; but it was the opposite— 

 

She was the one person who pushed you to be passionate, to be loving, creative, strong. If anything, you not skating after she died was completely the wrong thing to do. 

 

But now you were back, the old moves you’d learned coming back to you so easily it was like you hadn’t stopped skating at all. With every twist, every turn, you could feel her next to you; guiding you to the next stage; holding your hand so you wouldn’t fall over. 

 

It felt like home; your real home; not the strict household your father had raised you in after she was gone. 

 

As the light faded from the sky, more and more people had packed up and gone home. All except you.

 

So you went for it; curving your way around the ice like it was embedded within your skin, flying through the air with such ease and dropping back down onto the blades like you could do it in your sleep, spinning so effortlessly on the ice it was like you’d never stopped, like you’d never given up. 

 

When you stopped, you could feel your heart pumping blood around your body. You could feel the air as it whizzed around you. The earth as it moved beneath your feet. The stars as they began to shine in the sky. The sweat on your brow and the feeling of exhaustion creeping back into your body.

 

And it felt _amazing_. It all felt _amazing_. 

 

The subtle sound of clapping hit your ears, and when you whipped around there stood Phillip. 

 

“ _Wow_ — that isn’t something you see everyday.”

 

“You followed me,” You skated up to the edge of the lake, keeping your head low, and immediately began taking off your skates.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you could skate like that?”

 

“It was no one’s business except my own,” 

 

Phillip scoffed to himself.

 

“As if,” he muttered, just as you stuffed your skates back in the bag. You slung the bag over your shoulder then, and stomped past him. He stayed put. “I think you were scared.” 

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—,”

 

“You’re in denial then, huh?” 

 

And that’s when you snapped.

 

“ _You don’t know what you’re talking about!_ ” You yelled it at him, your face scrunched up and seething. Because he didn’t know— no one knew apart from you and Mom, and you wanted it to stay that way.

 

Phillip stopped, his face going blank for a bit, but he smiled again. 

 

“Why do trapeze when you could do ice skating?” He strolled past you, tugging at the bag on your shoulder. You let him take it, your body suddenly feeling like it would collapse right there and then. Phillip gripped your arm strongly, and immediately your anger had subsided. 

 

Your mind had gone completely blank, all apart from one thing— 

 

_Why do trapeze when you could do ice skating?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah OK, this fic certainly took a back seat when I was writing 'I wanted you to be better', but I'm happy I can finally come back to it!
> 
> As always, thank you for the continued support on my works. 
> 
> And enjoy x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I suck for not updating this more. I've had other things on my mind, but I knew I would always come back to this baby.

You placed your skates back in your quarters after a silent walk back into town with Phillip. You should have known he would follow you; that boy is beyond nosey.

 

“If you tell Barnum about this, I’m leaving the show and never coming back.” You’d said bluntly, just before the two of you entered the living quarters of the tent. Phillip stared at you blankly, but behind his eyes you could see he was hurt and confused.

 

He had no business telling Barnum anyway. It was your decision whether or not you’d show the world your skating. And you were still uncertain about it— seeing how your mother wasn’t here.

 

“Did you have a good walk?” Anne came up beside you, and when you turned to her all you wanted to do was burst into tears. You smiled at her weakly, looking at the floor.

 

“I’m sorry for shouting. You were just trying to help me,” Anne’s slender fingers brushed through some of the curls in your hair.

 

“It’s OK. I was the same when I was first learning. W would always end up laughing at how frustrated I would get, he’s a _dope_ of a brother, really.”

 

W came up from behind Anne, then, his face in a smug smile.

 

“A dope of a brother who taught you all you know, _thank you very much_.” He gave Anne a caring shoulder pat, and sent a reassuring smile your way. “Don’t worry about your talent or Barnum— you’ll find something. You _scream_ charisma.”

 

“Thanks, W.D.” You tucked your hair behind your ears, looking at the floor with a smile.

 

“Charity made dinner— want some?’ Anne chided. You suddenly realised how hungry you were.

 

“Let me just wash up, I’ll see you out there.”

 

-

 

Fresh faced and suddenly very tired, you sat at the dinner table with everyone else. Lettie sent you a sweet smile, and you felt immediately embarrassed. The way you’d _stormed_ out of the practice room, the way you’d be so red faced and frustrated with yourself—

 

It was so _childish_ of you.

 

You couldn’t help but try and avoid the patronising and pitying gazes of everyone around the table, but every so often you’d look up and see a new pair of eyes plastered directly on you, their soft gazes penetrating _straight_ through you. It was simply your stubbornness, the Bonsai that was still left in you, that made you so anxious about being looked down upon. Everyday in your house, your father had looked at you that way—

 

It made you _red with rage_ , usually.

 

But today, it simply made you feel weak.

 

You didn’t _want_ to be weak anymore, you _couldn’t_ be, not in this business. Not when you’re performing in front of an audience of a hundred or so people. You can’t lose your cool like that again, and once you figure out what the hell your talent could be, you _couldn’t_ act like that on stage— _ever._

 

The food was dished out equally— Charity had made yet another delicious roast— her girls handed out the plates and utensils, and then everyone tucked in. This happened _every_ week— _every_ Sunday— the whole group would have a sit down meal. They’d usually end up drinking too much, heading to bed in the early hours of the morning, but still get up for the 9am start on Monday morning.

 

You were in awe of how _strong_ they were, how ready they were to pursue their dreams. Barnum had done a good thing, bringing them together, giving them a place to be themselves. He’d taken you in, he’d given you a bed, a home, a _family_ —

 

And you were acting like a _stuck up brat._

 

You shoved your food down your throat, something new surfacing inside of you. Was it determination? Was it a realisation? Or was it both put together? You had _no clue_ , but every bone in your body knew you needed to change, every limb connected to you was buzzing with a new kind of adrenaline—

 

An adrenaline that you’d only ever felt when your skates were gliding on the ice.

 

Inside your head, your mother held your hand as you whisked around the ice, like she always did at first. Her long hair would whip behind her in beautiful tendrils, her skates moving so freely across the ice.

 

But then, she _let go._

 

Her eyes traced your panicked face, but she didn’t look concerned—

 

She _smiled_ at you, instead, just for a second, before her skates changed direction.

 

“ _Mom?_ ” You spoke, but all that left your mouth was a coarse whisper. Her back faced you, her hair still whipping behind her—

 

And then she was _gone._

 

She was _really_ gone.

 

_And you had the ice to yourself._

 

“I’d like to propose a toast!” Barnum yelled, his voice booming over the bursting table. Everyone sat, their bellies full, their smiles to the brim; a lot of them drunk beyond belief. You watched as Barnum got up on the table, his shoes smacking down on the wood chaotically; it excited you beyond belief. “To new beginnings— new acts— new feasts.” Everyone lifted their glasses, cheering him on.

 

That’s when he turned to you, his eyes full of adrenaline. “And to you, (Y/N). For opening my eyes to new possibilities ever since you arrived here a few weeks ago. For saying ‘No’ to the biggest critic and only family left in your life.” He sent you a wink, and you hid your face behind your hands.

 

There was something trying so hard to get out of you, then. Your heart began to race tenfold, the adrenaline still pumped through your blood, just waiting for you to make a move.

 

_And you did_ —

 

You smacked your hands down on the table top then, meeting no ones’ eyes, and stomped your way onto the table as well, standing opposite Barnum at the head of the table. The whole table burst into yells, Lettie slammed her drink on the table and clapped dramatically, Anne and Phillip jumped up, both pumping their fists into the air, their faces red with happiness.

 

Barnum looked at you, a small upturned smile on his face, just waiting for you to make your move.

 

You could see the cogs behind his eyes; they knew you’d finally clicked. They knew what you wanted, that you were a part of this family, that you were here and in the _now_ —

 

That you wouldn’t be thought of as second rate.

 

“From now on,” You began, the words practically overflowing from your mouth. “These eyes will not be blinded by the lights.” You wouldn’t be taken in with the possibility of fame, fortune, brightness. You knew you had to _work_ , you knew what your goal was. “From _now on_ ,” Everyone was silent. “What’s waited till tomorrow starts tonight—

 

“ _Tonight!_ ” You boomed, and everyone cheered alongside you.

 

Barnum continued to stand opposite you, his eyes still full of chaos.

 

“Let this promise in me start, like an anthem in my heart.”

 

“From now on.” Barnum spoke, and you flicked your gaze to his, astounded. You took a step forward.

 

“From now on.” Your voice croaked out, and the rest was a blur. You were whisked off your feet by Phillip, turning you around so fast and smoothly you were sure you’d throw up—

 

But instead you embraced it. You embraced the air, the feeling of the lights on your skin, the fear inside you now completey disappearing. You clutched hands with Anne, dancing around the table like you were born to do this, like you were _born_ to be in this family.

 

Lettie came towards you, her face in the biggest smile you’d ever seen, her arms wrapping you up like a parcel on Christmas Day. She moved with you, swayed back and forth, hands clapping to the beat of an unknown drum.

 

And it had just— _erupted._

 

Into _song_ , into _happiness_ , into _love._ You were overwhelmed, completely.

 

Because this was what you wanted— you wanted to be able to feel like your words could simply start a song, that your words were as good as any uttered by Jenny Lind, or your own father—

 

_That your words mattered._

 

“And we will come back home, and will we come back home, home again—,”

 

This was what life should be like; a spontaneous dance routine; yelling out the lyrics to a song wherever you went; being surrounded by people who actually cared about _who_ you were, what you _stood_ for—

 

_Who wouldn’t control you to the point of suffocation._

 

This harsh reality was that you needed to work; you needed to knuckle down; to get where you wanted to be. And where you wanted to be was _here_ , stood on top of a table, watching as everyone danced around you, belting out a song and enjoying simply being with each other.

 

Another drink was thrust into your hands, and you let your hair down, feeling the rhythm that everyone radiated; embracing this world; _their_ world—

 

_Your world._

 

“Barnum,” You grabbed him by the shoulder, your eyes full of determination. “I _know_ what my act is.” And in that moment, everything holding you back faded away. The botched trapeze practice, the fear of skating without your mother—

 

You were ready.

 

Barnum looked at you, his eyes gleaming. “I know.” He knew. Of course he did. “You think I can’t see when someone’s let go? When they’ve set themselves free?” He shot you a smirk, and you set him back an eye roll. “I can’t wait to see it.” He gave you a squeeze, and you were immediately filled with warmth, love—

 

Belonging.

 

Finally— in a room of half drunk performers— _your_ family—

 

You set yourself free. For good.


End file.
